


towards the boiling sun

by angel_yuri



Series: everybody wants to rule the world [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gun play, Light Angst, M/M, Mafia AU, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 07:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14397537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_yuri/pseuds/angel_yuri
Summary: It sits on his ankle, the ownership, a bit old fashioned for Otabek’s tastes. A gleaming gold anklet, two threads intertwined, one slim and plain, the other an elegant, expensive replica of barbed wire. A pendant, engraved. Otabek knows what it says without having ever seen it up close, it catches the stage lights, sparkling for a moment like the reminder it is meant to be.In a city where wolves come out at night, undercover special agent Otabek Altin finds himself wanting something he cannot have.





	towards the boiling sun

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This work is loosely inspired by @kawaiilo-ren Mafia AU (tumblr).  
> Enjoy :)

_From the dusty mesa_  
_Her looming shadow grows_  
_Hidden in the branches of the poison creosote_  
_She twines her spines up slowly_  
_Towards the boiling sun_  
_And when I touched her skin_  
_My fingers ran with blood_

The first time he sees him, he’s dancing. The second time, too, and the third and the fourth and the fifth. And then, he’s everywhere. A ghost set out to hunt him through Moscow’s gloomy alleys and neon lit clubs and smoky bars. A ghost, _that_ he is with his white skin and white hair and pale lips. _An angel_ , thinks Otabek distractedly. Then, he laughs. Oh, that is no angel. That is sin disguised as innocence, fire and red under candid skin and green eyes. A kitten, a tiger. A boy.

They call him the ‘Fairy of Moscow’, a name like a prayer whispered under a heavy bass as they palm their cocks, almost as hard as their guns. Otabek, he watches and he doesn’t touch. He feels his eyes follow sinuous movements and curves and edges and every fucking shape in the universe as if in a trance, blinded by golden hair so fine it looks like silk as it tumbles over skinny shoulders and slender arms and an elegant waist. Red and blue wash over the angel, Otabek likes the irony of it, an angel bathed in neon lights dancing like a whore. He wants him. Then, _who doesn’t?_ But no, he _wants_ him and what Otabek wants, Otabek gets. There is only a small inconvenience, a detail so insignificant it ruins every-fucking-thing: his angel is already owned.

It sits on his ankle, the ownership, a bit old fashioned for Otabek’s tastes. A gleaming gold anklet, two threads intertwined, one slim and plain, the other an elegant, expensive replica of barbed wire. A pendant, engraved. Otabek knows what it says without having ever seen it up close, it catches the stage lights, sparkling for a moment like the reminder it is meant to be. Aleksey’s, the angel is Aleksey’s and Otabek can do nothing about it. He watches from afar, sat on a booth in the VIP section next to the man himself, the bitter taste of alcohol on his tongue and anger buried so deep inside that only a few sparks reach his heart. The angel loses another piece of clothing and Otabek is brought back to reality.

***

He’s there when they come back, his angel, not his but an angel nonetheless. He’s there in Aleksey’s room all sprawled out on the bed, like a prize for someone to collect and that someone is one and only. That someone is not Otabek. Aleksey didn’t expect the sight he was greeted with, he wouldn’t have told Otabek to come here with him if he’d known about his kitten’s surprise. As of now, though, Otabek is right where he shouldn’t be, fresh blood on his clothes and hands. Otabek _wants_ , God he wants to climb on that pristine bed and smear all that filth on the angel’s virginal skin. He can see it, can imagine how it would feel to dirty him, to rise heat to those pale cheeks and spread his hands over that torso, possessing. He can imagine what it would feel like to weave his fingers between fine, golden strands of hair and then tighten and pull and kiss those plump lips numb. He can feel the pull, a magnet drawing him in. Then, Aleksey steps forward and the moment is gone.

“Yuri,” he says, “I told you I’d be busy.”

The angel’s eyes widen and his lips pout, mock hurt on his features. If he were Otabek’s he’d know better than that, but Aleksey -big, bad, _bratva_ boss Aleksey- cocks his head to the side and smirks.

“I thought I’d surprise you, da-“

The angel doesn’t finish his sentence though, his eyes fall on Otabek, wide and smart. He smiles, a sexy, expectant thing.

“Did you bring me a present, daddy?”

Now, he does finish his sentence. Aleksey turns to look at him, but Otabek takes a step back. It’s as if he’s bared his neck in submission, he knows that’s not his toy to play with. Aleksey raises an eyebrow, but he looks pleased. He’s saying: ‘god boy’.

“No, baby. I told you I didn’t expect you here, I have things to do.”

It’s a dismissal, plain and simple and Otabek, God Otabek would never dismiss an angel like that. A pretty kitten sprawled out for him, all long limbs and slack lips and sultry eyes. He’d always keep him by his side. It’s wrong, the way he’s thinking, and he knows it. It’s been three years, though, sometimes the lines blurry into one another. He’s thinking like them, like those man who watch the Fairy of Moscow dance and touch themselves and whisper about how they’d like to see that perky little ass on their cocks. He’s thinking about ownership, ownership over a human being. He needs a night alone, a night in his ratty flat far away from pretty dancers and cocaine and guns and tattoos. He needs to get ahold of himself, he needs to remember.

“Go.”

He’s talking to the angel, who’s still on the bed looking all rumpled and disappointed. He stands up, graceful. Then, he adjusts those ripped little shorts and that silky little top and simply leaves. He leaves with a brush of his rosy lips on Aleksey’s cheek and a look directed to Otabek, a look so heated that he should probably start worrying about Aleksey noticing. Aleksey doesn’t, or if he does, he says nothing. He takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed, the bed where only a few seconds before a kitten was waiting all flustered. He walks to the French doors that open to the balcony, Otabek stays put. After a few moments of silence:

“Good job, today. You’ve come far.”

“Thank you.” _I know_.

“He likes you, which means he probably won’t give you too much grief.”

For a minute, Otabek doesn’t really connect the dots. It’s a long enough minute for Aleksey to turn to him, on his face a mirror expression of the one Otabek was given before.

“I’ve come to trust you after these years, but, still, not enough to take you with me to the docks. I’m sure you understand.”

The docks. The docks are what Otabek has been waiting for all this time, he thought he was close, he thought this year he’d make it into the patrol. Apparently not. Rage is scalding and chocking in his stomach, it makes him want to do something stupid like take the lamp on the table and smash it only a few centimetres from Aleksey’s face. The thing is, the docks are something that happens once a year, twice, if they’re lucky. The thing is, he’ll have to stay another twelve fucking months. The thing is, he doesn’t mind. It’s scary.

“I do.”

“Good,” nods Aleksey, “I do trust you enough to take care of what’s mine in the meantime, though.”

Despite having already guessed where this was going, Otabek feels the words hit him like a punch -a punch thrown with brass knuckles. His face must be giving something away, because Aleksey chuckles, deep and amused, as if speaking to a child. Otabek guesses he kind of his, young and promising, taken under the boss’ wing.

“Don’t worry, he’s a sweet kitten when he wants to be. If you do a good job, maybe I’ll let you try him out, hm?”

The rest, Otabek doesn’t bother remembering. The instructions, the details... he’s too busy thinking about the fact that he’ll have to spend two weeks restraining himself from taking the angel right then and there every time he sees him. It’s going to be torture, the sweetest kind.

***

It’s Moscow, it’s always been Moscow. It’s the wet pavement outside a dirty club, broken glass shining green and blue under the moonlight. A path. The thing about a city like this, a city with a soul and two faces, is that you gotta know the right one, see. When it’s past midnight and the wolves come out, that’s the real Moscow. Otabek fucking loved it from the get go, with those neon signs, short-circuited letters like short-circuited brain nerves and short-circuited roads. It makes you powerful, effortlessly powerful in a leather jacket and a roaring bike between your legs, hot and purring. Like a kitten. How many kittens passed in between Otabek’s legs, their pink mouths smearing lipstick all over his cock, and he still only wants one. Moscow fits Yuri, the angel, like a fucking glove. Sleek and twisted. The heels of his shoes leave burning prints on the asphalt, streetlights reflect in his eyes and shine, shine, shine. Dilated pupils and a look so hot, light bulbs burst.

The first night he’s on duty, Otabek has to watch him dance, as always. Only this time, after everyone is gone, he’s the one who takes him home. It’s startling, walking backstage in between half naked girls and pretty boys and seeing the angel looking -looking anything but Aleksey’s pet. Otabek nearly has a heart attack. Otabek definitely has an epiphany. Because this angel, this Yuri looks like the purest human being on earth. He looks white and pristine and virginal, he looks soft with his cream coloured sweater and grey sweats. When they exit the club, he stands there in the middle of the street like a beacon and everything around him is dark and wicked and he looks so light and holy and Otabek wants to get on his knees and _worship_. It’s even worse, this kind of untouched beauty, because now Otabek can’t stop his thoughts from rewinding to that moment a few days before when he’d seen him on those white sheets, all clean and pure, and wanted to smudge scarlet blood all over his white skin and-

“Are you taking me home, or are you just going to stand there like a fucking idiot?”

Aleksey did say he had a mouth on him, then he’d said something about an effective way to shut him up. A car passes them by, lights illuminating the street for a few seconds, the anklet around Yuri’s fine bones glimmers as if invoked and Otabek remembers his place. He ignores the insult and starts walking to the car, Yuri hot on his heels. After sliding on the seats, leather cracking like Yuri’s second skin, silence falls between them, again.

“I can’t believe I’m stuck with you. You’re so boring.” Sighs Yuri and that -well Otabek should have expected it. He raises an eyebrow, a poor attempt at imitating Aleksey’s condescending stare, but it seems to work judging by the soft blush that spreads over the angel’s cheeks. Otabek knows he has a way with boys, sometimes men, if he’s feeling it. It’s in his voice, in his hard glares and smooth movements. He knows, he just thought of this one angel like something unreachable, something on a completely different league. Looks like he’s not, after all. He’s just like every other angel out there, eager to get on his knees and easy to embarrass. If it weren’t so out of character, Otabek would smile.

“Guess you’ll have to get used to it.” He says instead, dead serious. The angel blushes harder.

“Yeah, well, _he_ won’t be gone for long anyway.”

The way he says it, half petulant and half disappointed, makes something unpleasant twist in Otabek’s stomach. In his world, in _their_ world, you don’t really have a choice. It’s kill or be killed, it’s survival at its rawest. Of course, he’d imagined Yuri hadn’t always been a pliant kitten, he was a boy once and, like every boy, he probably had a family and a life. He doesn’t know how the angel became _this_ , he doesn’t think he wants to know. After all, there’s no going back. This angel sold his soul to the devil in exchange for what, Otabek’s doesn’t care to find out. He’s smart, though, Yuri acts the part hiding behind expensive gifts and sensual dances, and he’s fooling everyone. Maybe he’s starting to believe it himself.

“Where are we going?” Asks Yuri after a while, the city speeding in a blur behind the windows, its lights catching on the angel’s pale hair.

“Your place.” Replies Otabek, calm. Stoic, they say. If only everyone could see the way the simple sight of this angel lights him on fire, the way Yuri makes him want to rip off this mask, to explode, to -they wouldn’t call him that anymore. The angel’s face turns somber in a matter of tenths of a second, his pouty lips tighten in a grim line.

“Why not the Residence?”

“Aleksey is gone, he told me nobody’s allowed in there, not even you.”

Yuri nods, stiff and resigned. He must have learned pretty quickly that Aleksey’s word is law, there is no point in insisting.

Once they reach the neighbourhood, Yuri exits the car without looking back, not even waiting for Otabek (who’s supposed to be watching him, damn it). Otabek runs after him, not paying attention to his surroundings, but as soon as he steps inside the building the reason why Yuri had been so annoyed at having to go back home becomes evident. They’re in one of the worst parts of the city, the building is grey, the lobby is dirty and the moquette smells like piss. No elevator, although there must be six or seven floors, scraped, white walls and unsavoury things written on them. There’s also a few specks of crusted blood on the stairways handrail. Yuri is still in front of him as he proceeds to lead him up the stairs, he hasn’t said a word. The wall lamps in the corridor are dim and half broken and the light trembles casting shadows on the walls, they reach apartment number 404. Otabek thought his flat was shitty, in comparison to Yuri’s it’s a fucking palace.

“Say something and I’ll cut off your tongue.”

Otabek wasn’t expecting this, he jumps lightly at the angel’s cutting tone. The fact that he is aware of what a dump he lives in, makes this whole ordeal even worse. This boy wears Prada and Gucci, adorns his body with precious stones and gold, drives a fucking Audi when he is allowed. This boy lives in a flat with a broken window taped shut, a bare mattress on the floor instead of a bed. No couch, no tv, only a table and two chairs. It’s a studio apartment, Otabek doesn’t think he wants to see the state the bathroom’s in. The floor is cheap parquet and it creaks under each step Otabek takes. Yuri turns to him, but his eyes fall everywhere except on Otabek’s ones. He opens his mouth a few times before he actually says something.

“I never come here, that’s why it’s so... so-” he gestures to the flat and trails off, “plus it’s in a good position, only a few minutes from the train station and people really mind their own business, I mean, I never really see my neighbours except for that one time when...”  
As Yuri blubbers on and on and on, Otabek realises that the angel is ashamed. He’s so, so ashamed and he can’t stop making excuses and trying to distract Otabek from the truth. His heart jumps painfully.

“...then the Chinese place a few blocks down is-“

“Hey, it’s fine.” Interrupts him Otabek. Yuri finally stops talking. They’re not immersed in utter darkness, the muted orangish glow entering from the windows is light enough that Otabek can see the rough edges of every piece of furniture. Still, there’s some sort of heaviness in the air that makes him wish he could see nothing at all. It makes him wish he could avoid Yuri’s embarrassed expression. It’s not the coquettish blush of the car, it’s shame, plain and simple shame tainting his cheeks. Pity starts unraveling in the pit of his stomach, but Otabek won’t let himself show it, if he were in Yuri’s position he would spit in the face of anyone who even thought about pitying him. No, he won’t let his eyes soften and his mouth turn down at the edges. He will accept the truth as it is, a beauty queen of only eighteen (twenty-one, actually, but the song fits) who sits on a bare mattress in a pair of Valentino boots and an anklet made of gold. The angel, soft and vulnerable, sighs and closes his eyes.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Otabek shakes his head, “no, you don’t.”

“Oh I do, trust me. You’re thinking about how fucking pathetic I am, the little slut who acts like God descended on Earth, but doesn’t even have the money to afford some place that doesn’t smell like fucking death.”

’He has a mouth on him’ doesn’t even begin to describe how crude this little angel is. He knew it already, though, Otabek knew that wings and pale skin were just a shield hiding a wicked mind and a sinful tongue, so why is he surprised?

“You said it.” Hands up in surrender. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say, but Yuri has thick skin, he wouldn’t still be alive if he didn’t.

“God, I don’t even know why he wants you to watch over me.” Spits Yuri, the last words come out mocking and self-deprecating.

“He cares about you.” The angel scoffs.“You should be more careful, someone might think you don’t enjoy being daddy’s little kitten that much.” Warns him Otabek. He’s joking, kind of. It’s not Otabek, the person Yuri should worry about, it’s those who are truly loyal to Aleksey, those who aren’t going to disappear in a year if everything goes according to plan.

“Yeah, whatever.” Sighs Yuri as he blushes once again, Otabek is starting to like the redness of those cheeks a bit too much. Silence stretches after that, until Yuri decides he’s apparently had enough of standing there avoiding Otabek’s stare.

“You can go now, I’m safe and sound.” He says, bitter. Otabek shakes his head. _No_.

“Why not? You’re not going to be my fucking shadow, are you?”

“I’m afraid so.” Grits out Otabek. As much as he feels like this sweet thing in front of him should be worshipped and taken care of with the gentlest pair of hands, he can’t smooth out the annoyance that flays in his chest at his every word.

He’s been around for three years, and at eighteen Yuri was already dancing his way to the top, eager to get to Aleksey. Otabek remembers the first time he watched him dance like it was yesterday, still a bit clumsy and trying too hard, his movements forced and too sexual. It made him endearing, it made him look sweet. A first time. Needless to say, he got to the top pretty quickly. It took him a few months to be noticed by Aleksey, Otabek remembers. He also remembers thinking ‘I saw him first’, but at the time he was still enough of himself to repress that hunger, that lust so strong it scared him. The angel was nothing but a boy, he was a dancer and a whore and Otabek... Otabek was an undercover special agent who’d just stepped foot in Moscow under the name of Beka, the son of Aleksey’s cousin and his Kazakh wife. Of course, the real Beka was killed in a raid along with his family months before Otabek’s appearance at Aleksey’s doorstep, mourning and begging for a palace to belong to.

The point is, in that first year his morals were still in place, he was still aware of who he really was. Otabek, Otabek, Otabek. He was the good guy. Now -well, now things are different. Now his hands are irreparably stained with blood, his skin is tainted black with tattoos and he hasn’t had the chance to send in a report for _six months_.

“You’re not sleeping in my bed.” Speaks up Yuri, and in this moment he looks so incredibly young that Otabek’s heart aches. A whore, he’d called him. No, this little angel is just a boy who’s been dealt the wrong cards and Otabek knows it. He’s the same, after all.

“I wasn’t planning to.” It’s a bit too much, seeing Yuri’s earnest expression, it hits a bit too close to home. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to sleep. I was told we have places to be, tomorrow.”

That is the end of their discussion. Obedience is so deeply engrained into Yuri’s behaviour that he doesn’t dare ignore orders, even if Otabek was aiming for suggestion. He changes into a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, uncaring of Yuri’s presence. The angel, though, a sexy little kitten who moans for daddy every night, blushes red and goes to the bathroom to take off his clothes. Otabek has seen him half naked just a few hours before, with glitter on his skin and a wicked smile on his lips, but this is startlingly different. Watching Yuri step out of his soft sweats and his soft sweater is prohibited, it’s an invasion of privacy and Otabek doesn’t dare break this limit. When he comes out of the bathroom, with no shining lights and lose hair holding Otabek’s attention, with no make up and skimpy clothes, he notices the dark bruises around his arms, just peaking out from under the sleeve of his ratty t-shirt. For a moment, Otabek is reminded of why he’s in Moscow in the first place.

***

Two weeks go by and Otabek is so fucking gone he can’t even believe it himself. Yuri, Yuri, Yuri. And Yuri, again. Again and again and again. It took them three days and two hours exactly to come crashing into each other. It was just sex at first, amazing, mind-blowing sex, and then everything went wrong and now Otabek looks at his sweet angel with fucking fondness of all things. They shouldn’t, God, not without Aleksey’s permission. He had said he’d let Otabek try him out like a fucking toy, a _thing_ , but of course he couldn’t wait fifteen days. He had to have him then and there.

The first time is imprinted behind his lashes, playing on loop every second he’s not holding his kitten by his side (which is to say, not much). The first time is fast and hard and happens right after their first real fight. This fucking angel has a mouth too dirty for his own good and Otabek wants to shut him up in any way he can, first with a kiss and then with his cock. And then he lets him speak and moan and moan and moan.

(“Who’s Daddy, mh?”  
“Beka-”  
“Who is Daddy?”  
“You are!”)

The first time is against the wall, then on the rickety table in Yuri’s flat, then on the floor. The first time leaves them hungry for more, but they won’t let themselves starve. The second and third and fourth and all the others are unavoidable, they’re all teeth and tongues and biting and gripping. This time, though. This time is different. It might be because they are frantically aware that Aleksey’s coming back tomorrow, it might be because they’ve been dancing around a moment like this for days, with hidden smiles and soft eyes. Otabek doesn’t really know what it is, a series of things that lead to one last night together. One last night. Because they know they can’t keep this up anymore, not with Aleksey breathing down their necks. It’s all-consuming, the jealousy Otabek feels thinking about his angel under another man’s body. Writhing and screaming and _pretending_. He doesn’t act on it, though, he thought this burning feeling would lead to rough thrusts and scratching nails. No, this feeling leads to desperation and desperation leads to -whatever it is that’s happening now.

Yuri open and wanting beneath him, legs splayed and pliant, body languid and hot. Otabek is careful, everything is slow. He’s distantly aware that they’re as close as they can get, foreheads touching, their mouth brushing with every thrust, Yuri’s legs wrapped tightly around him, their hands fucking twined. It’s different. It’s -it’s fucking cliché, is what it is. It’s something from a movie and Otabek _just doesn’t care_. It hits him when he comes down from his orgasm, a few minutes after Yuri’s, his head pillowed on this kitten’s chest, still between his legs. It hits him that he’s falling in love with an angel after two fucking weeks.  
“Me too.” Whispers Yuri. Otabek hasn’t said a word.

***

Aleksey is back and Yuri is gone. Otabek is drowning in self pity with the burning taste of alcohol on his tongue, sat on the cold floor of his ratty apartment trying not to dial that one phone number he shouldn’t be dialling. He does it anyway. Yuri doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t, he’s getting fucked in the backseat of a limo right fucking now while Otabek can’t stop thinking about him. ‘I’m yours, I’ll always be yours’, ‘he doesn’t matter, you know I want you’, _blah blah blah_.

“Fuck.” He swears to himself, “fuck, goddamnit fuck!”

The crash comes as a surprise, it’s the noise, it brings him back to reality and he realises he’s just smashed his phone on the wall. Great. He should stop drinking, probably. He doesn’t think he can, not if he’ll have to stand the thought of Yuri and - _him_ sober. It’s not like he can stop that either, the image is fucking crystal in his mind. A movie playing over and over, blond hair in hands that are not his, bruises his mouth did not cause. It makes him sick, although that might be the alcohol. He falls asleep there, on the bathroom floor with the acrid taste of vomit at the back of his throat.

The next day is pretty much the same, except that he doesn’t get drunk. No, Aleksey wants him back, his personal little guard dog. The apple of his eye. So, Otabek does what he has to do, dirties his hands with blood and shadows Aleksey like a good student. He goes to the club and he spends the entire night watching the floor because he can’t stand the sight of his angel, with glitter sparkling all over his thighs and empty eyes closing as he sways to the beat for gruff men to appreciate. He has to watch him leave, though, hand in hand with Aleksey. Every fucking night. It goes on like this for a month before Otabek decides he can’t stand it, can’t stand the silence.

He disappears among sweaty bodies and glitter when his angel steps down from the stage, Aleksey doesn’t even acknowledge his escape, he stays where he is with a drink in his hand and some kitten who’s not Yuri dancing on his lap. If he thought the first time had been rough, this is even worse. When he walks into Yuri’s changing room, because he’s popular enough to have one all for himself, it hits him that they’ve got time. Aleksey is too busy out there and Yuri is done for the night, they have time. It doesn’t make them les frantic.

“What are you doing here?” Asks Yuri as soon as he sees Otabek’s reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t turn around. Otabek steps forward.

“I needed to see you.” He says, composed. Stoic, once again. People here like him for his calm demeanour, they admire him for it. It comes in handy when he’s pointing his gun at somebody’s head and has one pointed at his own. Stoic. Calm. Reliable. Then why is it that he can’t hold back from this little angel, that he can’t function without his touch? Why is it that all this stoicism flies out of the window when he sees those long legs, that gleaming anklet he wants to rip off with his teeth?

“You shouldn’t be here.” Sighs Yuri, their gaze locked in the mirror. Everything is kind of still around them, the muffled sound of music, the blinking lights on the ceiling. Yuri’s breathing. Otabek’s.

“Do you want me to go?”

It’s strange, watching Yuri’s expression change so openly. His mask cracking with six words, fifteen letters. He shakes his head, fine strands of golden hair spring out of his messy ponytail with the motion, so of course Otabek has to close the distance between them and wrap a hand around it. Their eyes never leave each other, Yuri’s flutter close when Otabek gives his hair an experimental _tug_.

“Yes.” He hisses.

“Yes, you want me to go?” Teases Otabek, a cruel smile on his lips. He loves it when his angel loses words and all sorts of rationality in his presence. He wants him.

“N-no! Don’t...”

Otabek tightens his grip and pulls harder, his hips pressing into that sweet, little ass at the same time. Then: “I want to hear you say it.”

Yuri moans, a chocked off sound that betrays his lust. _Go on baby, say it_.

“I want you to stay, Daddy.”

If Otabek was hard before, now he can’t stop his hips from rubbing against Yuri, feeling the firm muscle between his legs and the silky texture of his hair between his fingers. They kiss, then. Hot and messy and Yuri tastes like cherry lipstick and Otabek wants to devour him whole. They’re still kissing when Otabek shifts slightly and feels a shiver shake his angel’s body, a gasp escaping his lips. He doesn’t get it at first, this change in the air, in Yuri’s body. But then, oh then. Then, when he makes to thrust his hips up once again, he feels the hard metal of his gun blocking the friction. Oh. _Oh_. Slowly, oh so slowly he works a hand between their bodies and takes ahold of his gun, its muzzle pressing into Yuri’s back. The angel’s breath catches.

“Beka?” He whispers, legs shaking and body alight under Otabek’s fingers. His hand, still buried into Yuri’s hair, turns the kitten’s head so that they can finally, _finally_ lock eyes. Otabek lets himself have this one moment to take in Yuri’s face, his heavy-lidded eyes, his raw lips and the flush high on his cheeks. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Yes?” He asks, his eyes intense as they scrutinise his kitten’s expression, making it clear what he wants to know. Yuri swallows, then nods.

“Yeah.” He breathes, “yes, Beka.”

In a swift motion, Otabek spins him around, his back digging into the table, his head against the mirror.

“Stay.” He orders, voice scratchy from desire. He takes his sweet time freeing the gun from its holder, watching Yuri’s breathing speed up, watching his eyes widen and his lips part open as if on instinct. _Look at him_ , bathed in dim lights, legs splayed open and clad in black leather, leopard printed top all scrunched up his waist, revealing the smooth skin of his tummy. His kitten, his angel, all teeth and nails. A smart mouth and an attitude. He’s got Otabek wrapped around his little finger and he doesn’t even know it, or maybe he does. Probably, probably he does.

“Open up, kitten.” Says Otabek. Yuri obeys and then the hard barrel disappears behind those pink lips, glittery gloss smearing all over cold metal. Otabek’s cock twitches. He smirks. They begin.

***

It’s dangerous, it’s fast and messy and adrenaline-fuelled, what they’re doing. It’s a secret whispered between their lips, a smile hidden behind Aleksey’s back. It’s going to get him killed, is what this is. Otabek couldn’t care less. They’re keeping it up, somehow. Dimitri suspects something, Otabek is sure, he sees it in the way Aleksey’s right-hand man looks at Yuri and then at him with arched brows and glee. He’s waiting for the right time to tell Aleksey, as if he’s not already important enough. No, it’s never enough in this world. It’s always higher and higher and higher. You never know what could happen to your boss in a matter of days, you might even get the chance to replace him if you’re good enough. It’s Dimitri’s hunger for power that’s going to get him killed, not his -his whatever it is that he feels for Yuri. Otabek could get out of this mess any time, he knows it. All he needs to do is give a call, pretend the mission has been compromised and he’ll be rescued in no time. He’d also be leaving his angel here, all alone in a wolves cave. No, he can’t. He won’t. If they’re ever going to make it out alive, it’s together.

They dream of the future, sometimes, mostly Yuri. Otabek learned that he likes to make up an alternate reality where he gets to have the happy ever after he deserves. He tells him when they’re in Otabek’s stupid apartment, naked and flushed and sated. When his cheek is pressed to Otabek’s chest, he closes his eyes and says:

“I know it’s stupid, but sometimes I think of what it could be like. You know, if we met in another world. I’d be smart enough to go to uni-“

“You _are_ smart enough.”

“-and you’d have some respectable, boring job.” He laughs. “We’d be the most boring couple to ever live, going on clichè dates and saying ‘I love you’. You’d even ask me to marry you in front of the cathedral, the one with the golden domes, you know. At sundown.”

Otabek’s heart aches in a way it never has before. Yuri’s words sound like hope, hope for a future they could still reach. They’re so young. Otabek doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, but he suspects Yuri already knows. He’s just letting himself have this, a moment to dream. God, dreams, Otabek used to have some of those, too. Now, he thinks as he looks at this angel’s hopeful eyes and soft smile, he has them again.

“You know about Dimitri, don’t you?”

Yuri keeps silent for a bit, his eyes don’t search for Otabek’s.

“He came to me last night.”

At that, Otabek feels a surge of anger rising steadily in his belly, _how dare he?_ Thinking about Dimitri cornering Yuri, putting his filthy hands on him... it makes him burn with protectiveness.

“What the hell did he say to you?” Asks Otabek through gritted teeth. He feels Yuri shift as he extricates himself from Otabek’s embrace and sits up, looking at him dead in the eyes.

“I’m telling you only if you calm the fuck down.”

Otabek seethes. He’s standing in a matter of seconds, hands in his hair as he tries to -well, calm the fuck down.

“Beka I know, _I know_.”

Yuri’s hand is on his shoulder, the visceral sound of his voice brings him back, if only slightly. He can still feel the fuming rage in the pit of his stomach, the need to go after that man and slit his throat open. He’s going to ruin everything, he’s going to take his angel away from him. He can’t let him. Yuri’s arms encircle his waist, his cheek pressed to his shoulder blades, a hug. A hug. He hasn’t had one in a long time. It makes him shudder, then, it makes him slump down into Yuri’s chest. His angel. His safe place. His home.

“He said he knows about us, that he won’t tell Aleksey if we...” He mumbles, his arms tighten. Otabek breathes deeply. In and out. He turns around in Yuri’s embrace and takes that sweet face into his hands. He swallows.

“If we what?”

“If we help him take Aleksey down.”

And that, that Otabek didn’t expect. Or maybe he did. It’s a smart move: Yuri has access to Aleksey’s most private rooms and his very persona when he’s at his most vulnerable, Otabek is good at what he does, only usually it’s to enemies, not allies. Aleksey’s not an ally, though, is he? There’s also the fact that it could benefit his mission, his actual mission, the real reason why he’s in Moscow. He tends to forget about that, lately. He’s in so deep that his life back in the States comes to him only at night, in flashes hidden behind the veil of sleep. It doesn’t feel real, it certainly doesn’t feel tangible. Yuri does.

“Beka?”

It’s a good fucking idea but it might cost them their lives, if they were to fail. It might cost him his angel. The reward, tough, if they were to make it. Oh, the reward.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on tumblr as angel-yuri!


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